Playing The Odds
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: It's a choice between regaining her memory or Grissom, and either way, she knows she can't have one if she has the other. G/S
1. I

**A/N:** Yes, I'm indulging myself and writing a cliché, but I did try to make it different. Whether or not I am successful, I'll let you be the judge of that. This story has three chapters, and this is not a WIP :) I've written it to fit roughly after season five but before season six.

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**Playing The Odds**

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Bumper cars.

That's what it feels like, as a car rams the front left corner of her Denali, spinning it around so fast her vision blurs. For three seconds, her mind is blank, and all she can see is the swirl of lights outside, impossibly bright; all she can hear is the whine of metal against metal, replacing the gentle strains of music from the radio.

She can remember the last time she rode in a bumper car, at the traveling theme park back in Tamales Bay. She was seven and it smelled like bubble gum and motor oil inside the tiny car.

She loved the rush of adrenaline as cars smashed into her chipped red ride, knowing she was perfectly safe inside of it; loved the dreamy way the cars floated by unlike real cars on asphalt, wondering why it did; loved the way the steering wheel felt in her small palms, making her feel like an adult.

It was weird that the safest place she felt as a kid was inside a metal replica of a car surrounded by rubber strips.

For one week straight, she rode the bumper cars over and over, and mourned the day the theme park packed up and left for another city.

Her car skids to a halt and the broken glass rains down on her as she is slammed into the steering wheel by the momentum. It feels identical to day four on the ride, when one of the cars hit her so hard she was left breathless.

And, like her seven-year-old self, she doesn't make a sound.

As the screeching dies down, everything becomes deathly silent, and she can hear a loud beating in her ears, reminding her that she is alive.

Something warm trickles down one side of her cheek but she gives it no thought as she tries to pull herself from the steering wheel, dazed and disorientated, desperately trying to catch sight of the back.

_It has to be safe._

Her legs are trapped, preventing her space to twist around fully to assess the damage done to the back. She turns as far as she can and braces her shoulder against the hard plastic wheel, but all she can see is black.

Before her eyes can focus through the twisted metal and the darkness, another car slams into the back of her vehicle. The car rocks violently, the force throwing her body weight onto her shoulder. She screams this time, but before she can feel, analyse, _think_, her vision blurs and darkens.

--

Her vision clears and she's is lying on the asphalt with Grissom standing in front of her. He seems to be looking at something in the distance and she takes this opportunity to pick herself up, noting the silence around them. There are no cars, no screaming children, no signs of life. The sun is setting behind her, and looking around, she realises with a jolt the house on her right is her old home.

"Tamales Bay?" She asks him, but there is still that faraway look in his eyes. "Grissom, why are we here?"

He doesn't answer, and she is starting to worry. "Um, Grissom?" She tries to step forward, but realises her feet are stuck to the pavement.

He finally looks back at her, meeting her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to get your attention, but I can't seem to move," she says calmly, willing her legs to move.

"You have my attention, Sara."

She frowns and looks up, abandoning her attempt to move. He is acting weirder than usual, and it is starting to scare her. She decides to give up trying to move, choosing instead to talk.

"What are we doing here?"

"Nothing," he replies quietly, looking down at his shoes.

"Grissom," she says, her patience starting to wear thin, "why are you being so obtuse?"

He sighs, apparently just as frustrated as her. "If you don't want to be here, just leave."

"I can't," she says, forcing calm into her voice when all she wants to do is smack some sense into him.

"Why not?"

"I don't know!" she screams, wishing she could hurl something at this calm expression. "Why can't you help me?"

He looks right into her eyes, the blue searing her heart. "Because I'm stuck as well."

She stares at him, her eyes wide, absorbing his words. The sun dips lower and lower below the horizon, and soon enough, the darkness consumes the both of them.

--

She opens her eyes to painful white light and as her vision clears, all she can see is white, white, _white_. She's not lying on a road somewhere in California, and she can move her feet.

White light, white walls and a white coat.

"Hello," a voice calls out far away, "my name is Dr. Cavanaugh, can you hear me?"

She blinks several times, and the person standing before her comes into focus. Dark hair, kind green eyes. "Yes."

"I'm going to ask you some questions, answer them as best as you can, all right?"

Sara tries to nod, but a wave of pain crashes down and she repeats her answer once more.

"Can you remember your name?"

"Sara Sidle."

He makes a note in his clipboard. "When is your birthday?"

She frowns. "September 16th."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a, uh, crime scene investigator."

He smiles warmly. "Good. What—"

A pager beeps and his smile disappears as he turns away from her, checking the screen. "Miss Sidle, someone will be with you shortly," he says, not looking at her as he exits her room.

She blinks once, twice, and he is gone.

"Wait!" she says, struggling to sit up, but her shoulder can't move, and there are various machines hooked to her that hold her down – a heart monitor on her right, an IV tube on the inside of her elbow and a plastic oxygen cannula taped to her nose.

"Sara?"

She turns her head to the entrance and sees a man with tired blue eyes stepping inside, relief etched in his expression. "You're awake."

"Why am I here?" she asks angrily, feeling the panic rise while trying to pull her IV from her arm, but he reaches over and takes her hand in his.

"You were in an accident, and you were out for almost five hours. The team, especially Greg, wanted to be here, but—"

She lowers her eyes to the sheets, which are white, watching his thumb swirl on the top of her hand. Her heart is pounding, and her vision starts to swim. "Stop," she whispers, "I…don't know what you're talking about. What accident?" She directs the questions to the sheets, feeling the panic rise and crash within her.

His thumb stops moving, and for a moment, the only sound in her room is the steady beep of her heart monitor, rising faster and faster.

"Sara," he says quietly, "do you know who I am?"

She lifts her eyes to meet his, and she sees exactly what she's feeling reflected in his eyes.

Fear.

--

TBC


	2. II

**A/N:** Keegan Elizabeth is more than just a beta: she's a kick-ass friend, she teaches me the in-and-outs of all those grammar bits I don't understand and she enlightens me on quotes. Thank you, hun :)

--

She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them, meeting his frantic and questioning gaze. Such blue eyes, she thinks to herself, such _familiar_ blue eyes. His name is floating just out of reach, so close yet so far.

Blue, blue, _blue_.

"Say something," she says, griping his hand tighter. "Anything."

"We must always have old memories and young hope," he says softly, and her heart lifts as little bits of memory fall into place, flooding her mind.

His voice, his eyes, the _quotes_.

"Grissom."

He exhales, dropping his head on the side of her bed. He squeezes her palm that little bit harder, mumbling "Thank god," into her blanket. She smiles widely, dizzy with relief, even though it hurts.

_I can't forget about him even if I wanted to._

--

Grissom hands her a mirror as another doctor stands by the foot of her bed, explaining her injuries as she winces internally at the harsh, black stitches across her cheek.

Two large brown eyes stare back at her, as well as a large bruise above her left eye and several tiny cuts all around her face. She winces, setting the mirror down.

_I've definitely seen better days._

"Your right shoulder was injured badly, but you're lucky it didn't shatter. Your _humerus_ is broken, though," he says, signally to the top part of her right arm, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes because nobody can miss that cast.

"Two of your middle ribs are fractured," he continues, and now she knows exactly why it hurts to breathe in deep, "and you have fifteen stitches on your cheek to close a deep gash. You also sustained a concussion, causing retrograde amnesia. What is the last thing you remember?"

She purses her lips, thinking back. "I left at the end of my shift after dropping off the evidence and finishing the report on the Lautner case. I drove straight home, opened the door to my apartment and woke up here."

"Dr. Grissom, do you know when this happened?"

"Approximately twelve hours ago," Grissom whispers, looking pale.

The doctor nods, making a tiny note on his clipboard. "We estimated beforehand that the severity of your concussion could cause eight to twelve hours of memory prior to the accident at most."

"So I might never remember how I got into this state?"

"Technically, yes. But certain things might be able to jog your memory, but you cannot push yourself too hard in recalling these events."

"Great," she says tiredly, her head starting to ache. "When can I leave?"

"Best case scenario is in one week's time," he says, turning to leave. "Get lots of sleep, Miss Sidle. Press '2' if you need any assistance."

"Thank you, Dr. Fielding," Grissom says, rising from her side for the first time to shake the doctor's hand.

She watches the doctor leave, and hears Grissom settle back down into the chair. He takes her hand in his with such ease it makes her smile lightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she says sleepily. "Aren't you needed at work?"

"They'll be fine."

"Mmm," she replies, closing her eyes. "Tell me about the accident, Grissom."

"Rest first, we can talk later."

"'Kays. You can leave if you want," she whispers, his hand impossibly warm in hers and as she drifts off to sleep, she hopes he doesn't.

"I don't want to leave," he says, minutes and minutes later, to the dark room.

--

The first thing she feels when she awakes to a brightly lit room is the absence of warmth in her right hand. She blinks, wishing the sun wasn't so bright, and turns to stare at her empty left hand. She continues to stare, wondering if she had managed to confuse reality with fantasy.

_Is that a symptom of amnesia – fantasizing? _

"Hey," someone says on her right, and she turns quickly to see Greg standing by the door with a smile on his face, looking a little pale. "Catherine forced Grissom to take a break. He'll be back in a few."

"Oh," she says, feeling her cheeks burn, hoping he doesn't notice.

He doesn't.

"Warrick and Nick wish they could be here, but we're tapped out. They send their regards, though, as well as Brass."

"Tell them I'm fine," she says with a smile, and Greg shakily returns it.

He walks over to the chair by her bed and sits down silently, and she bites her lip, unsure of what to say. This is uncharacteristically unlike Greg, and it's making her nervous.

"Don't die," he says bluntly, still looking down at his lap.

She opens her mouth to reassure him but as he lifts his eyes to meet hers, she realises he's in tears.

"I swear, Greg, I'm fine. I'm just a little freaked, I guess. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? I promise," she says, giving him the brightest smile she can muster, "that I'll do my best to ensure I don't die."

Greg nods seriously, and leans down to whisper in her ear. "Good, because who else will I be able to share my secret coffee stash with?"

She smiles, and his breath is sweet, tinged with something oddly familiar. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, ignoring the pain in her chest as she allows the sickly sweet smell fill her senses.

_Bubblegum._

Images swirl above her line of vision, just out of sight. All she can feel is the weird disjointed feeling of desperation, and as soon as she feels it, it is gone. She clenches her fist, frustrated, and opens her eyes to Greg's worried gaze.

"Are you in pain? Did I accidentally knock against you or something?"

"No…it's just, what kind of bubblegum did you eat last?"

"What?"

"Bubblegum, Greg."

"Right, um, Hubba Bubba's in original. You know, those—"

"Pink ones, yeah, I know."

Greg is looking at her with a look of slight confusion, and she decides to change the subject.

"Can you tell me about the accident?"

A cell phone goes off, and Greg straightens up to get it. She closes her eyes once more, taking advantage of the moment by trying to reach the memory. It makes her head ache, but it feels so, so close.

"I'm sorry, maybe another day. It's Catherine. She's waiting at the parking lot for me, but Grissom will be back soon. He went home for a shower. Get well soon, okay?"

She nods, disappointed. "Thanks for coming," she says, earning herself a bright smile from Greg as he leaves.

She stares out the window, watching the sun beaming down on the gated gardens.

_Why doesn't anyone want to talk about the accident?_

There are no answers, and all she can think about is the ache in her chest, the dull throbbing of her head and the heavy scent of bubblegum as she falls into an uneasy sleep.

--

She feels a familiar warmth in her hand as she wakes, warming her inside out, but before she can open her eyes, he starts to whisper, oblivious to her consciousness.

"Don't leave, Sara, please don't leave," he says, like a mantra. "Please don't leave."

He presses his face against her blanket, and after a few minutes, she realises he's crying.

Grissom.

Crying.

Those two words don't belong in the same sentence, but not because he didn't have emotions, but because he hid them better than anyone else. Grissom never lost control; he never loses control.

"Take it back, Sara. Take the letter back," he says into the blanket, his words muffled.

_What letter? _

She can feel everything spiral out of control as his tears stain the blanket and chill her arm. It's just too much, trying to piece everything had happened between those hours that have Grissom in tears by her bedside? She presses her eyes tighter, willing herself to remember.

Why doesn't anyone tell her about the accident? What does he mean by the letter? Why, of all things, bubblegum?

As she lies there in the dark, trying to control her emotions so her heart rate doesn't show a sudden increase on the screen, it occurs to her it doesn't feel like she had lost eight to twelve hours of her life.

It feels like she's losing her mind.

--

The whole team visits her two days after the accident, each one bearing gifts. Nick brings a huge bouquet of beautiful blue flowers, making her room smell of fragrant hydrangeas; Warrick offers her an iPod filled with his favourite music, Greg comes with a smuggled pack of Hubba Bubba bubblegum (original, of course) and Catherine drops a makeup bag filled with foundation, powder and concealer onto her bed.

"The stitches make you look like Frankenstein," she says pointedly, making Grissom scowl by her side. "Don't worry, the makeup is dermatologist tested, hypoallergenic and it fades scars."

Grissom doesn't buy flowers or balloons or cards, but it's fine with her because he's always by her side, clutching her hand in his. He's there when the doctors take her blood for the fifteenth time, squeezing her hand a little tighter, providing her with silent reassurance; he's there when she refuses adamantly to take the painkillers, arguing to the nurses that she can't think straight with them, and he rationalizes with the nurses.

He's the last thing she sees before she falls asleep and the first face she sees when she wakes.

She doesn't ask about the letter, but she does ask about the accident repeatedly, listening to variations of how she ended up here.

If she can't solve crimes because she's stuck in a bed, she'll do the next best thing: collect evidence in bits and pieces of information to solve the mysterious circumstances surrounding her accident.

"Talk me through the events leading up to the accident, Griss."

He groans, putting down the forensic journal he was reading to her. "We've been over this hundreds of times, Sara."

Just twice, she wants to say, but bites her tongue instead. She wants to shrug, but that ache in her shoulder reminds her against it. "Humour the patient."

"We were processing the Heron house – five dead bodies, two adults and three teenage children in Seven Hills. You arrived late to the scene, and I sent you off to take the evidence back to the lab. On your way back, you were involved in the accident. I'm so sorry, Sara, I shouldn't have sent you back."

"It's not your fault," she says, catching a glimpse of the guilt in his eyes. "Why did I arrive late?

"I don't know."

He looks away quickly to tuck the journal back into the carryall by his side and as he fiddles with the zipper, she frowns. Things feel…off.

As far as she can remember, she is never late to a crime scene. Okay, maybe once, but that was because of Hank and his keen interest in dates at far off places.

She shakes her head lightly, clearing it. She might have forgotten a pivotal moment in her life, but she certainly could not forget what it's like to be essentially _her_.

She is a workaholic, through and through, and would never arrive at a scene late if not for something important.

_He's hiding something._

She bites her lip, searching carefully for the appropriate words. It's just like interrogating a suspect, and with one wrong slip, everything can go downhill. "How late was I?"

"Half an hour, I think," he says, straightening up, and before either one can speak, a nurse enters with a tray of vegetable soup and gelatine.

"Dinner," she says cheerfully, effectively ending the conversation cum impromptu interrogation. Grissom rises and she sneaks a peek at him while he helps the nurse assemble the table across her bed.

He looks… relieved.

--

"Sara," someone is saying softly, "Sara, wake up."

"Go away," she mumbles sleepily, shifting her body, trying to turn from the noise. There seems to be something hindering her movements, and all she gets is a sharp ache in her shoulder, causing her eyes to flare open.

A blurry person is standing before her, a blob of colour in hand. She blinks until everything comes into focus; Grissom standing with a bag in his hand, his hair adorably messy and clothes rumpled in the dim lights.

"I have to go – the sheriff demands my presence," he says with a sigh.

"Oh," she says, pushing herself up to a sitting position. There's a tiny pang of disappointment, but she shakes it off and smiles brightly. "Well, work is work."

"Yeah," he murmurs, but doesn't move.

"I'll be fine, Grissom." She gives him another bright smile, and her cheek starts to hurt from the strain. "Really."

He fidgets, hesitating for a few long seconds.

"What?"

Reaching over wordlessly, he bends down and kisses her chapped lips. It's warm and soft, everything she has imagined his lips to be like. He tastes like coffee, a beverage forbidden by the doctors for her to drink, and she sighs against his lips, content in more ways than one.

He pulls away minutes later, and for five long beeps of her heart monitor, they stare at each other, breathless.

"Always wanted to do it," he whispers, "didn't want to be too late."

She just stares at him, lightheaded, and the words can't seem to come as she absorbs his words in silence, her mind blissfully blank.

"I'll be back as soon as possible, honey," he says, jolting her back to the present, "try to get some more sleep."

With that, he places one last kiss on her forehead and disappears out the door, leaving her in the darkened room. She touches a finger to her tender lips and closes her eyes, breathing in and out deeply.

It will be so much easier to leave things as they are, to never recall the hours prior to the accident. So much easier to fall asleep with the taste of him on her lips with nothing but tomorrow on her mind. She'll never need to know what he's hiding, _if_ there even is something he's hiding, and life can go on.

But there's another part of her that yearns for the answers because it's the one thing that has never failed to provide her comfort, ever since she was seven.

Either way, she knows that in the end, she can't have one if she has the other, and though she still falls asleep with the taste of him on her lips, instead of tomorrow on her mind, it lingers on the past she can't remember.

--

TBC

--

**A/N2:** Arsène Houssaye quoted "We must always have old memories and young hope", and Hubba Bubba is a brand of bubblegum produced by Wrigley's.


	3. III

**A/N**: Many, many thanks to Keegan for reading and editing this from the first chapter onwards. She's too awesome :) Longer AN at the end.

--

She falls asleep hours and hours after he leaves, dreaming not of images, but conflicting emotions like frustration, seething anger and elation. There are noises in the background, a scream of metal and a soft, soothing voice.

It's just a garble of words spoken in a voice that's warm and familiar, but as she strains her ears, they become clearer and clearer.

"…But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? / _I paged you two hours ago_ / It is the east, and Juliet is the sun / _I'm sorry, but I needed you_ / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, / _Solo_ / Who is already sick and pale with grief."

She wakes disorientated and the first thing she sees is Grissom reading to her by her side, still in his work clothes. He has a cup of coffee in one hand, a thick, hardcover book in his other and he gives her a gentle smile as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"Hey," she says, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu at his words as they stare at each other, him giving her a smile and sipping his coffee, her fiddling absentmindedly with the IV in the crook of her elbow. "What are you reading?" she asks, breaking the silence and skirting the obvious topic on both their minds.

He looks at her for a second longer than usual before responding, as if he wants to say something, and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze. "_Romeo and Juliet_."

She frowns, and the nagging sense of déjà vu grows stronger. "Can you say that again?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_," he says slowly this time, and a look of worry appears in his bright eyes. "Can you hear me?"

She nods, and a word materialises in her head. "_The Scarlet Letter_."

He's looking downright worried now, and he stands to his feet, speaking as he places a hand on her forehead. "_Romeo and Juliet_ was written by William Shakespeare, and _The Scarlet Letter _was by Nathaniel Hawthorne. You don't seem to be running a temperature, but I think we should call a nurse just to make sure…"

She pulls his hand away from her forehead; her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to make sense of it. "I'm fine, and I know who wrote what. It's just that my mind is telling me _The Scarlet Letter _has something to do with _Romeo and Juliet_…I'm sure it's nothing," she adds hastily, suddenly realising who she's speaking to.

It's too late, because the worry in his eyes shifts to fear in a blink of an eye, and as soon as it appears, it disappears behind a cool front. "Sara, the doctor says you're not supposed to push yourself in recalling the events prior to the accident."

"Why are you so worried about me regaining my memory?"

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he says, settling back down into his seat by her side with a grim expression.

"Too late," she says, gesturing to the machines by her side. "What does this look like to you? All I want is my memory back."

"Why do you want something that'll cause more harm than good? All that happened is that you were involved in an accident with no recollection as to how it happened. You're spared the post-accident stress, the trauma, everything."

"No one tells me anything! I work as a crime scene investigator for a living, Grissom. I solve crimes; I bring closure to the victims' families. One moment I'm closing the door to my apartment, and the next thing I know, I wake up here. All I want is closure, is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Knowing what happened won't change the past," he says, rising from his seat to pace the room.

"It may change my future," she says quietly, and from her position, she can see his face pale.

Her heart starts to race, and it shows on the EKG machine. She watches it rise steadily, reminding her of barely a day ago when he had kissed her – her heart stayed elevated for a full thirty minutes.

Except this time, it's from the fear rather than the adrenaline and elation.

"Stop it, Sara."

"You're hiding something from me," she says, just as calmly.

"And you're surprised?"

Her eyes widen as he winces, regretting his choice of words. She knows exactly what he's talking about: the things he hid from her in the past range from the Marlin case to him asking Sofia out to dinner.

It hurts more than she expects it to, and she speaks without ever feeling the words leave her lips.

"Leave."

She turns away, staring at the monitor as it continues to rise. Any higher, and she'll be in danger of a cardiac arrest. When she turns back around, he's gone.

She works fast, pressing the '2' button on the remote for the first time since being admitted. Closing her eyes, she sinks down into the pillow; her eyes squeezed shut.

This time though, it's more to stop the tears than to will her memories to return.

--

"Mr. Brown is on his way, Miss Sidle," the nurse says, just ten minutes after informing them of her request to see Warrick.

"Thank you," she says, toying with the pages of the book Grissom left behind. The words 'Romeo and Juliet' are written in gold on a beautiful deep brown cover, and two titles run in her mind, over and over.

_Romeo and Juliet, the Scarlet Letter, Romeo and Juliet, the Scarlet Letter._

She flips open the cover, and there's something written on the inside of the cover.

"'_Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, _

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.'

Romeo, Act I, scene IV."

Her blood runs cold as she stares at the words written in Grissom's beautiful script.

"Everything is fine with your stats, Miss Sidle," the nurse's upbeat voice rings out, bringing her mind back to the present. "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I think I need some painkillers."

The nurse smiles warmly at her. "It's about time; with injuries like yours I'm surprised you lasted this long without them. What hurts, exactly?"

Everything, she wants to say, but settles on "My ribs."

"I'll get you some Hydrocodone," she says, giving her a kind smile and marking the clipboard placed above Sara's head. "Anything else?"

Sara hesitates for a fraction of a second. "I don't want to see anyone by the last name of Grissom."

She nods, and exits just as quietly as she entered.

--

"Hey, Sara," he says softly while looking around, as if expecting to see someone. A second later, he asks, "Where's Grissom?"

She ignores his second question, speaking as quickly as she can through a medicated haze. "I need you to do some research for me. I was reading _Romeo and Juliet_, and _The Scarlet_ _Letter_ popped into my head for no good reason. I need to know why because I have a feeling it has something to do with my accident. There are computers downstairs," she explains, "with internet."

He nods, not questioning her. It's one of the reasons why she picked Warrick to do the research for her, instead of curious Nick or nosy Greg.

"There's nothing Google can't find, Sara," he says, giving her a wink. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

He exits and she exhales, feeling her tension subside. She doesn't know if it's the fact she's closer to finding out the truth or the drugs coursing through her system, because as soon as she closes her eyes, she drifts off to a dreamless sleep.

The next thing she feels is a warm hand on her arm, shaking her awake gently. She opens her eyes to see Warrick, iPod in hand.

"Hey," she says, instantly awake. "What did you find?"

"It took less than a minute to find out that they're lyrics to a song, and I downloaded it into your iPod. They have iTunes on the computers downstairs," he explains, handing her the black music player.

"Thanks," she says, accepting the iPod from him, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest.

"I have to run, Grissom wants me in."

She bristles subtly, but shakes it off, choosing not to dwell on it. "Thanks for everything," she says earnestly, looking up at him.

He gives her a warm smile, shaking his head. "It's nothing, Sara, but…"

"Yeah?"

"You owe me ninety-nine cents," he says seriously.

She laughs, her first time in five days.

--

She listens to the song fifteen times straight, but nothing comes back to her.

Absolutely nothing.

It doesn't affect her the same way the scent of bubblegum does, because she remembered reading somewhere that scent is the sense tied closest to memory.

It's frustrating, because she can repeat every single word by heart, and she doesn't even _like_ the song.

Sighing, she lowers the volume and yawns, taking a quick glance out the window. It's almost sunrise, and she takes a moment to appreciate the beauty. Footsteps and hushed voices draw her eyes from the window and towards the entrance of the room.

"I'm sorry," a vaguely familiar voice says firmly, "we can't let you see her. It's past visiting hours."

"It wasn't a problem just hours ago," another voice says just as calmly, and this voice is more than just vaguely familiar.

"Miss Sidle doesn't want to see you."

There's a long pause, and Sara realises she's holding her breath waiting for his answer. Her heart is starting to pound, again, and she doesn't even know why she bothers.

_I must be a masochist._

She raises the volume of the iPod and pulls the blanket up to her neck, closing her eyes; determined to stop caring. She falls asleep to a song about Romeo, Juliet and scarlet letters playing in her ears.

--

She grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white, red-hot rage coursing through her. She can remember the last time she arrived to a crime scene late, the only time she arrived late: she was up in a vineyard tasting fine wine with Hank, on Grissom's wish that she 'get a life'.

"You're late, Sara," she hears him say in her head, replaying the conversation just minutes ago.

"By less than an hour, Griss. Cut me some slack."

He just stares at her, impassive. "Where were you?"

"I had things to take care of."

He purses his lips, unimpressed. "Okay. Take the evidence back to the lab, in a high profile case like this, we need to process as fast as we can." He turns away from her, going back to clicking the shutter of his camera.

She narrows her eyes; she's not about to be dismissed that easy. "I'll go once I process the exterior."

He looks up, eyes cool. "No, Sara. I want you to leave now."

She holds his gaze, deep brown against cool blue, neither one yielding.

"Sara," he says quietly, and she turns around, breaking eye contact, her body trembling with anger.

She hates him; she hates that he's her boss, she hates that she loves him.

Her mind is brought back to the present by a red light, and she leans back against the seat, taking in the singing of a girl about Romeo and her true love from the radio.

She wants to change the channel, but the lyrics are actually quite…telling, once a person looks beyond the cheesy 'prince/princess' theme.

Well, she thinks to herself, waiting for the light to change, at least my last day on the job is easy – transporting evidence is something Greg does.

The light flashes green and she accelerates gently, only to have a car collide into her from the left, spinning the car around, unleashing chaos. Everything is whirring around too fast, but there's only one thing on her mind:

Protect the evidence.

She has never been in a car accident before, and this feels eerily familiar – like riding in a bumper car.

The screeching stops and she finds her legs are stuck but she manages to see a little bit of the back by pressing her shoulder to the steering wheel. Panic is starting to set in, because she knows that the most important part of the case rests in the trunk of her car, seemingly untouched by the chaos.

Before the bright dots in her vision clear, the car shakes violently and everything descends into darkness.

"No!" she gasps, jolting up from bed, her hair matted to her forehead. The tiny earphones fall out from her ears as she tucks her hair behind her ears with shaking hands, and the entire room is still, save for her deep breathing.

_I remember._

_I remember everything._

--

"Looking good, Sidle," Nick says with a wide smile, appearing from behind a corner to walk by her side.

"Thanks," she says, touching her cheek involuntarily. The scar, along with various other cuts and bruises, are barely visible, thanks to a certain blonde. Aside from the cast on her right arm, she looks as good as new.

"So, you're back?"

"Nah," she shakes her head. "I'm just dropping by to see Grissom," she says, turning a corner and waving back as he continues onwards towards DNA.

"I hope you get your memory back!"

A shadow of a smile appears on her lips, but it melts off as she turns one last corner to face Grissom's office, its door shut.

Knocking firmly, she waits patiently outside, feeling strangely detached. She didn't make the decision the moment he left her broken on the bed, stinging from his words; she didn't make the decision under the calming effects of being medicated.

The moment her memory came back to her, she knew what she had to do.

"Come in," his familiar voice calls out finally, and she takes a deep breath before entering.

She waits in the dim light for a heartbeat while he finishes a note in the file, and when he looks up to see her standing before him, his pen falls from his grip.

"Sara."

The way he says her name, so soft yet firmly, makes her heart twist, and she despises the power he has over her heart.

_This is not going to be easy._

"Here," she says coolly, reaching into her sling back to pull out a letter. The words 'request for leave' are printed on the envelope, and she sees his hands shake as he accepts it.

It isn't just an ordinary leave form, though; it is one requesting for an 'unspecified amount of leave'. She can take anywhere between a week to four months of leave, but everyone knows it's just another way of saying 'I'll be leaving sooner or later'.

He knows exactly what's written inside because this is just a replica of the original letter, the one she dropped off at the lab before leaving for the Heron crime scene in Seven Hills.

The letter was the reason she was late to the scene.

"I remember."

He pales, and lowers his eyes in shame as she settles down on the edge of the seat facing him, determined not to stay for long.

"It was never my intention to hurt you."

With a sad smile, she shakes her head. "That's not the point. I know what it's like to have people tell me how to feel, but never anyone tell me what I should remember or not."

He sighs, eyes still downcast. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You wouldn't have known I was going to leave for good, because it wasn't a resignation letter."

"Am I right, though?" he asks, looking up now, "were you thinking of leaving?"

She hesitates, because deep down, she knows that she never wanted to return. "I just wanted to escape this place for a little while, because I was tired of being emotionally stuck at the same place, with no way backwards or forward. Now…now I know there is no way back but I still have a chance by moving forward."

"Sara," he says, the desperation creeping into his calm voice now, "the lab—"

"I know, the lab 'needs me'," she says, standing up and using her fingers as air quotes. "But I have to go either way." He is silent, and she turns around to walk out but he surprises her by speaking.

"No, Sara, _I_ need you."

She turns back, her eyes soft. "I've heard that one as well."

He shakes his head, the pain radiating from his deep blue eyes. "This is different," he says, voice breaking. "Please don't leave, Sara. Please."

She freezes, and she can almost feel his cold tears sear her arm once more. "No one's stopping you from following me," she whispers.

"I can't go," he says, eyes brighter than she's ever seen. "I'm stuck here."

A creepy sense of déjà vu settles over her heart, over her head, _everywhere_.

She watches him watch her and knows that at this very moment she has to leave, because each second she spends here is on borrowed time. She's not going to allow the darkness to consume and destroy her, and she feels her throat close up as the walls around her appear to close in. "I have to go," she gasps, the words forcing their way through, and she grasps the doorknob almost desperately.

At the last moment, she remembers, and pulls out a familiar hardcover book with golden script decorating its front before handing it to him. "Bye, Griss."

Without a backwards glance, she disappears, leaving him with a beautifully bound copy of '_Romeo and Juliet_' in his hands.

He opens the book automatically, and there's something new written directly under the quote he penned, in a scrawl he can recognize in the middle of the Nevada desert with sand blowing in his eyes.

"'_What must be shall be._'

– Juliet Capulet; act IV, scene I."

Her voice rings out in his head, haunting his mind as he reads the quote, again and again and again.

"_Bye, Griss." _

--

She walks around the park, feeling the bright sun on her skin. It's warm and incredibly bright, and that, combined with all the noise and rush of activity around her, lifts her spirits.

No more walking under murky night skies, no more harsh neon lights.

No more Grissom either, but that's okay.

Really.

It's been a month since she handed her request for leave slip to Grissom, and all thoughts on returning have disappeared.

She spent the first week relaxing, and the rest touring the country in search of the greatest bumper car rides. It is as though her accident reawakened her interest in them, and she travelled from Washington DC to Atlanta in search of the perfect ride.

And today she is in Chicago, at the Six Flags Great America theme park, waiting in line for the world's largest bumper car floor, the Rue Le Dodge.

Her right arm is still slightly stiff, but other than that, all the external evidence of her accident is gone. Her hair is longer now, and lighter, because of all the sunshine.

The line moves a step forward and she waits patiently, and the wondrous smells cast her in a dreamlike state – bubblegum, caramel, delicious cotton candy.

"Hey," someone says, tapping her on the shoulder and breaking the spell. She blinks and turns around to see Grissom standing before her, wearing his usual dark clothes but donning a baseball cap backwards, cotton candy in hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, genuinely surprised, and the temperature around them drops several degrees even as her heart starts to speed up. He beckons her to the side, and with a guarded heart, she allows him to escort her to a quiet part under a tree.

"I'm on extended leave."

She blinks at him blankly, and he gives her a tentative smile. "I realised that I wasn't stuck after all, and all I needed was a catalyst."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

"Do you know why I kissed you back in the hospital?"

She flinches slightly, but keeps her eyes on his. "I don't know; I don't think about it. Memories aren't always accurate, and they don't last forever. I'd rather not live my life dwelling on things that have passed."

_I'm tired of living on memories, and I don't think I want to know why he did what he did at the hospital._

He hands her the cotton candy wordlessly, a peace offering, and she accepts it quietly. No one knows, except for him, that cotton candy is one of the very few things she has a weakness for.

Actually, as far as she knows, she only has two weaknesses, and both of them are right before her – one in her hands, the other facing her.

The flossy pink strands melt on her lips and on her tongue, and she asks again. "Grissom, why are you here?"

"I want to sort out the mess between us."

She bristles, narrowing her eyes at him. "There's no 'mess' between us. Actually, there isn't _anything_ between us."

"Will you let me try, at the very least?"

"Fine," she says, equal parts annoyed and hopeful, and turns away from him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to queue for my ride."

She takes three steps away when he pulls her back gently and before she can glare at him and ask him what he's playing at, he presses his lips to hers. The cotton candy in her hands falls to the ground, and she tastes caramel and delicious warmth, and as much as she tries to stop herself, she can't.

The memory she swore to herself she would never recall rushes back, and she relishes the taste of his lips, the warmth of his arms, the steady elation of her heart. The way it messed with her head; the giddiness, the confusion, the twinge of uncertainty – everything is too familiar to that night.

It's an intoxicating cocktail of emotions that swirls inside of her and she pulls away, tucking a lock of hair from her flushed cheeks, trying to retain some form of control over her heart. "I hate you," she says simply. "I hate that you're selfish, I hate that you mess with my head, I hate that I actually still care about you."

He looks at her calmly, taking in her words, and mutters the three most inappropriate words for a person on the receiving end of her words. "I love you."

She sighs, because at most times, she can never understand Grissom-esque logic, but today, it makes perfect sense. It's not, however, a cure-all phrase, because the hurt and the anger and the frustration are still there. "We need to talk."

A nod. "We both have all the time in the world – when do you want to start?"

She pauses, sizing up his hopeful smile and honest eyes, and wonders if it's enough.

"Not right now," she says at last, resting her head on his shoulder and allowing his arms to go around her, because she knows all too well that not even memories last forever. She has a feeling _nothing_ will ever be enough, but for now, this moment, as imperfectly perfect as it is, is all that matters.

--

END.

--

**A/N2**: This has been incredible to write, so thank you for sticking with it till the end._ 'Romeo and Juliet'_ was written by William Shakespeare, and_ 'The Scarlet Letter'_ by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Rue Le Dodge is located inside Six Flags Great America in Gurnee, Illinois. I hope you've enjoyed this, thanks for reading! :)


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